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Celebrity Studies
ISSN: 1939-2397 (Print) 1939-2400 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rcel20
Betrayed by blondness: Jiřina Štěpničková
between authenticity and excess – 1930–1945
Šárka Gmiterková
To cite this article: Šárka Gmiterková (2015): Betrayed by blondness: Jiřina
Štěpničková between authenticity and excess – 1930–1945, Celebrity Studies, DOI:
10.1080/19392397.2016.1104893
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/19392397.2016.1104893
Published online: 03 Nov 2015.
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Betrayed by blondness: Jiřina Štěpničková between authenticity and
excess – 1930–1945
Šárka Gmiterková*
Department of Film and Audiovisual Culture, Masaryk University, Brno, Czech Republic
(Received 1 March 2015; accepted 24 August 2015)
The blondness of female stars is invariably associated with glamour, sexuality and
wealth. But not much attention has been paid to stars articulating different sets of
values attached to fair hair found in artistic, national and religious discourses. This
article focuses on the Czech star Jiřina Štěpničková and her star image from the 1930s
to the mid-1940s. I argue that, while blondness heavily contributed to her status as a
national icon and dedicated performer, it also resulted in a complex set of negotiations
between her star qualities and the national rural characters she performed. On the one
hand, Štěpničková was labelled the ‘Czech Madonna’, the perfect embodiment of
heroines defined by loyalty, self-sacrifice and chastity. On the other, she was questioned
as too beautiful and elaborately styled for the parts she was cast in. Analysing
formal elements of her image and reconstructing the promotional and critical discourses
surrounding her allows me to present Štěpničková under three categories – as a
celebrated actress, as an ideal woman and as an ‘inauthentic’ star – for which her
blondness played a key role.
Keywords: blonde; Czech; Štěpničková; stardom; authenticity; performance; national
Introduction
Among the many insights Richard Dyer brought to star studies there is the focus on the
purely visual, luminary aspects of stardom. In his short analysis of Lilian Gish’s star
persona he famously opened his essay by considering the etymological roots of the
theoretical paradigm. Stars are not only celebrities and famous personalities but also, in
the true meaning of the word ‘. . . things that shine brightly in the darkness’. He adds that
we should not forget how appropriate the term was (and still is) for ‘. . .people, who did
seem to be aglow on stages and screens in darkened halls’ (Dyer 1993, p. 1). Such elegant
phrasing is not only significant in itself, but it invites us to consider wider issues
concerning stardom in relation to whiteness and, more specifically, blondness. Blond
stardom is a very powerful cultural and ideological construct and is invariably associated
with glamour, sexuality and wealth. When considering such questions in terms of hair
symbolism, other paradoxes enter the frame (Synnott 1987). Whereas blond women are
easily labelled as beautiful, rich and boldly feminine, brunettes are considered mostly as
good, intelligent and familiar. The mystique associated with the blonde escapes the
melancholy undertones or sense of enigma so readily connected with dark hair; blondes
instead go for fun, but also run the risk of being qualified as ‘dumb’. Many memorable
*Email: sagm@seznam.cz
Celebrity Studies, 2015
http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/19392397.2016.1104893
© 2015 Taylor & Francis
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female film stars sport fair or bleached hair, articulating the values and notions already
outlined – such as Marilyn Monroe or Marlene Dietrich.
Apart from these prevailing readings, not much attention has been paid to stars
articulating different sets of values attached to blondness found in historically specific
artistic and national discourses. Opening the topic to new topographies, time frames and
star identities will allow for other discourses pertaining to glamour versus authenticity,
and varied concepts of period beauty and national heritage.1
These criteria are developed
in this study of Czech2
star Jiřina Štěpničková, whose career was at its most successful
throughout the 1930s and up to the mid-1940s. Her star persona contained notions of ideal
womanhood based on endurance, self-sacrifice and chastity, and also on the myth of the
dedicated artiste in pursuit of noble goals such as projecting a positive national self-image.
Therefore, in what follows I argue that while Jiřina Štěpničková’s blondness significantly
contributed to her status as national icon, it also gradually resulted in a complex set of
negotiations between her star quality and the rural characters she performed. The next
section thus introduces her as a typical Czech leading lady whose fair hair was in harmony
with her national image. The second part focuses on Štěpničková’s star vehicles as the site
of ideal womanhood. The final section moves to the following decade and is concerned
with critical discourses surrounding Štěpničková, positioning her as ‘too glamorous’ and
‘inauthentic’ for her film roles. Blondness is therefore presented as a twofold category; on
the one hand cementing Štěpničková as a truly Czech artiste, and on the other undermining
her credibility as a folksy heroine.
Scholarly attention dedicated to blondness is relatively scant and unsystematic.
Richard Dyer touched on the topic notably in his analysis of Marilyn Monroe’s star
image (2004, pp. 19–66) and later elaborated on the concept in White (1997).3
While the
Monroe chapter presented blond hair in the traditional sense of glamour, in his subsequent
work Dyer interpreted it as a sign of extraordinary virtue. Fair hair resembling a glowing
halo predated cinema, but this visual trope was reinforced after the emergence of film
technology. While Dyer perceives blondness as being connected either to moral superiority
or glamorous stardom, I would like to offer a case study ticking both of the boxes.
My aim is to understand not only the values and meanings attached to domestic stardom
of a particular era, but also to engage with broader issues connected with blondness.
Prevailing scholarly discourse on non-Hollywood stardom stresses different working
conditions such as the smaller scale of production and close links between cinema and
theatre, but it rarely focuses on the looks and physical assets of stars outside the dominant
paradigm. This article therefore invites scholars to consider the cultural negotiations that
had to be mobilised in order to promote and frame a concrete physical body as the site of
idealised national virtues in a specific geo-political context.
National icon
The nature and contours of Jiřina Štěpničková’s star persona, as well as its origins, are
firmly rooted in the second half of the nineteenth century. Many of her star vehicles
adapted novels or dramas from that era, dealing with rural motifs and simple peasant life.
Readers’ and spectators’ pleasure resided not so much in the basic storylines as in the
settings and the display of a variety of local festivities, folkloric costumes and regional
landscapes and accents. Such heritage craving was caused by the absence of any direct
political activities in the public sphere since the Czech country was part of the Austrian
empire up to 1918. Overt nationalist manifestations and domestic pride were thus strongly
displaced onto culture and mostly theatre. Actresses at the time were cherished not only as
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fashion models or trendsetters, but mostly for their ability to speak clear and literary
Czech and thus demonstrate the extraordinary euphonic qualities of a long suppressed
language.4
Frequently labelled as ‘mothers of the nation’, they saw their elevated status
fortified by allegorical paintings, ‘casting’ them as mythical figures. For example, Otýlie
Sklenářová-Malá was portrayed as the mythical princess Libuše; years later, in 1926,
Alfonse Mucha, a skilful painter of celebrated women who paid special attention to their
hair, concluded his ambitious Slav Epic cycle with an image of the Goddess Slavia. These
idealised national visions, channelled through bodies of star actresses, displayed certain
features, which later returned through Jiřina Štěpničková. These ‘timeless’ Czech women
had fair skin and a solid, busty physique clad in pristine, simple dress; their honeycoloured
hair was pleated or braided and covered with a carefully arranged piece of cloth.
As in other small nation cinemas, the emerging star identities offered a unique
combination of Hollywood modernity and older, localised contexts of performance. In
Czechoslovakia, film stardom initially seemed to depart from these anachronistic, consciously
national fantasies in the 1910s and 1920s. The first major Czech star was the
blond Anny Ondráková, or Anny Ondra as she was known to international audiences,
who embodied a local version of the flapper. This type of modern woman struck a perfect
balance between fun and sexiness, initiating various adventures and encounters with men.
Ondra’s and other Czech flappers’ comic performances removed any risky or controversial
undertones, despite these heroines adopting the latest fashion of short skirts and
haircuts. Such a pattern of relegating blond leading ladies to the realm of light-hearted
comedy persisted in the following decade as well. The Czech star system of the 1930s and
up to the middle of the 1940s thus was not short of blond female stars – quite the contrary,
blond actresses prevailed. But their fair hair somehow seemed to disqualify them from the
critically acclaimed dramatic or heritage parts. In the Czech film culture of that era, hair
symbolism evolved around a set of contrasting ideas; with the blondes labelled as fun,
dumb and cute, brunettes were perceived as more authentic, and as somehow enigmatic
and tragic. Although this was not directly articulated in the journalistic discourse of the
time, a quick survey of female stars working throughout the decade illustrates my point.
Anny Ondra was followed by Věra Ferbasová. The latter was discovered by film director
Vladimír Slavínský, a seasoned maker of popular comedies and romances, and the pair
together launched a successful collaboration, in which the starlet played daring, yet
goodhearted, female characters who were willing to turn their life upside down in order
to secure the desired man. Ferbasová’s looks accentuated her almost childish cuteness and
gave her the appearance of a teenager. Her facial features were round, complemented by a
rather chubby figure, and her lips were made up in a strong heart-shaped manner. Her
blond hair was shorter than was common for a 1930s star, barely reaching her shoulders,
but always styled into tight curls. Although she was ridiculed by critics, who frequently
mentioned her lack of acting skills and described her comic performance as too obvious
and ponderous, Ferbasová’s star vehicles were the top crowd-pullers of the decade.
Another blond icon of the era, Nataša Gollová first embodied sentimental heroines, but
later moved towards local versions of screwball or crazy comedies. Her particular type
lost any teenage connotations and offered more mature, although still entertaining, visions
of femininity. Her hair was less elaborately styled than Ferbasová’s, adopting a modern,
more natural wave with a distinctive peekaboo look. Gollová’s lock of hair shadowing her
left eye is still nostalgically celebrated today. Not only did it interestingly structure her
face, but it also contributed to her comic performance in terms of providing an excuse for
a number of ‘spontaneous’ gestures – blowing the curl from her forehead or sweeping it
away with her hand. Adina Mandlová provides another appropriate example, highlighting
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the transformative potential of darker hair. At the dawn of her screen career she dazzled
audiences with almost platinum hair, but was given only a few lines of dialogue in her
films. More important parts of brides and spoilt daughters followed; finally in 1939, with
notably darkened hair, she won a starring role in Kouzelný dům (The magic house) (1939).
The part of Marie, the heroine, suffering from amnesia and forced into starting a new life
among strangers, enabled Mandlová to showcase her developing acting skills. Similar
opportunities started coming on a more regular basis and the actress significantly never
bleached her hair again. Melodramatic or even tragic parts required from performers a
certain level of maturity and a hint of sensuality – and such qualities seemed to be more
readily associated with brunettes.
With blondes normally reduced to fun, light-hearted, uncomplicated versions of
femininity, Štěpničková’s stardom clearly broke the established scheme. Judging from
journalistic discourses in the 1930s and early 1940s, for instance the popular film weekly
Kinorevue, the actress gained her unique star status by combining platinum blond hair
with the ‘serious’ nature of her star vehicles, featuring adaptations of classical Czech
literature and drama. To make Štěpničková suitable and authentic for the films she was
cast in, her glowing blond hair had to be perceived as a major sign of Czech womanhood.
One article at the time thus stated that having light coloured hair was not a sign of
exoticism but a fairly usual thing. Although national aspects of beauty evaded precise
description, journalist K. Karlas made it clear which Czech actresses ‘naturally’ stemmed
from the local environment. In his opinion, a blond leading lady would be extraordinary
for example in Italian films, but in the domestic productions brunettes came to stand for
the unusual. For the author Štěpničková thus represented the typical, common young
Czech woman resembling any other rural girl (Karlas 1937, pp. 16–17). Other journalistic
contributions to the issue of national beauty frequently depicted Štěpničková as the only
actress in whom truly Czech qualities could be found (Rádl 1938, p. 1, Anon. 1940, pp.
2–3). These rather obscure descriptions put the accent on the notion of depth, standing for
this star’s beauty, talent and personality. Such a persona was in stark contrast with that of
other, mainly international celebrities, namely Jean Harlow and Marlene Dietrich, who
were considered shallow, their beauty reduced to a mere shimmering surface. While these
‘imported’ celebrities were deemed to project conspicuous consumption and luxurious
lifestyle, domestic actresses, in order to get a fair amount of press coverage, had to
distinguish themselves in artistic terms. Some of the pieces mentioned Štěpničková’s
urban origins, thus pointing to the constructed nature of her image, but her convincing
performances secured a strong connection between the star and her roles as country
women. Stills rarely featured her in contemporary clothing and modern hairstyle, and
instead numerous photographs depicted her in plain rural costumes. Promotional stills
from her upcoming films, and especially close-ups, foregrounded her glowing hair, with
direct implications for her performance and posture. Her head was usually slightly tilted
down with eyes gazing into the distance and not at the camera. Her face remained serious
with only a hint of a smile and her back was frequently slightly hunched. This is in sharp
contrast to the prevailing glamour presentation of stars at the time, who flashed large
smiles, looked at the viewer and arched their bodies in statuesque poses. Štěpničková’s
visually subordinate, chaste position matched perfectly the broader contours of her star
image as that of a responsible national star. The posture described also implied willingness
to immerse herself in the particular part instead of foregrounding her own image.
Štěpničková employed these visual and performance strategies based on stage icons
from previous decades such as Ellen Terry, Eleonora Duse or the Czech Hana
Kvapilová. These leading ladies were careful to the point of obsession to present
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themselves both on and off stage as sentimental, transparent, vulnerable and above all
chaste models of femininity very much in line with the conventional ideal of ‘true’
womanhood (Buzsek 2006, p. 121).
Ideal woman
From the beginning of her film career, Jiřina Štěpničková was presented as a skilful,
talented and dedicated artiste. Such a powerful position stemmed from her connection to
the established theatrical tradition that valued celebrated actresses as positive self-images
for the nation. While still in her teens, Štěpničková was asked to join the company of the
illustrious National Theatre. Early on she became associated with parts in the classical
domestic repertoire, falling under the category of the ingénue, or the young innocent
woman on the verge of matrimony. The ultimate breakthrough part was that of Maryša –
first on stage in 1933 and in the film version two years later – with Štěpničková applauded
for the novelty of her performance, bringing youthful sparkle to traditional interpretations
of the part of a suffering murderer. The original drama, introduced in 1894, tells the tragic
story of a young girl forced by her parents into marriage to an older man. She longs for a
boy from the village and because she cannot stand her brutal husband, Maryša kills him
by serving him a poisoned cup of coffee. Both the film and the play end with Maryša’s
imprisonment and her full realisation of the horror of her act. Despite the tragic ending,
this piece was celebrated mostly for its realistic depictions of rural life, specifically the
Vlčnov accent and folkloric costumes. The complex relationship between the actress, the
significance of her hair and national overtones came to prominence in this film which
established the basis of her stardom. For the first time, genuine attention was brought to
Štěpničková’s hair; or in this particular case, a headdress (Figure 1).
The iconic image of her profile, detailing Štěpničková’s face in the manner and pose
described previously, became a kind of visual leitmotif for the whole film. In colour or in
black and white, as a poster or a collector’s postcard, it created a strong connection
between the emerging star and her breakthrough part. The visually stunning picture was
not only a wisely chosen marketing tool, but also a reminder of a significant scene in the
film; this featured an elderly lady placing a heavily decorated, multi-layered bridal wreath
resembling a glowing crown on Štěpničková’s head. This particular moment invites
audiences to shift their attention from narrative flow to the ‘mere’ enjoyment of the
unfolding spectacle. The scene is disconnected from both the immediately preceding
drama (Maryša begging her father not to insist on the marriage) and the events that
follow (the wedding). Instead of pushing the story forward, the film immerses itself in a
contemplative moment, focusing on the highly decorated adornment and the face of the
actress protruding under it. Therefore in this short sequence we are able to witness crucial
aspects of Jiřina Štěpničková’s star image in terms of framing, lighting and the focus on
her face. While her blond hair in this scene is partly covered by the sparkling wreath,
other aspects of mise-en-scène, such as the visual dominance of fair hair in the shot and
the subsequent halo effect, are already firmly in place.
Feeding from this visual pattern, Štěpničková’s subsequent films developed and
intensified the scheme, finally resulting in one of the most coherent and brightest star
images of the era. Such stability was secured with two factors, starting with narrative
schemes. The classic literary works and dramatic plays centred on kind and gentle
heroines, young women who were obedient to their parents and respectful of conventional
moral codes within the community. Love was their imperative; without a cherished partner
by their side they committed horrible crimes, escaped the village or lost their mind. SelfCelebrity
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sacrifice was their main character trait, as they were willing to trade their well-being for a
man’s sake, life or peace of mind. When, like Maryša, they rebelled, they did so in order
to secure their right to choose a prospective husband freely and according to their will and
emotions. Cast as the central heroine of these marital rural dramas, the star always
embodied the ethical core of her films and her blondness served as the aesthetic ratification
of their innate qualities.
The second cornerstone of such a consistent and bright image resided in stylistic and
formal ways of presenting the star. Light and its distribution in the shots thus became
crucial for Štěpničková’s ability to glow. ‘Glow’ is the appropriate word preferable to
shine because, as Richard Dyer (1997, pp. 122–125) noted, shine connotes a mirroring
effect and physicality. Glow, on the other hand, gives idealised Caucasian women an aura
of transcendence and solar radiance. They do not merely reflect light but are bathed in and
Figure 1. Iconic profile: Jiřina Štěpničková as Maryša in the promotion photography (1935).
Source: Národní filmový archiv.
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permeated by it. Such an impression was achieved with the aid of formal, stylistic and
performative techniques. In order to secure the desired effect the star had to be illuminated
through three-point lighting, with the overall composition stressing the backlight responsible
for the required halo impression. Such visually privileged moments accentuating the
star in her uniquely fair beauty are to be found in every title within the star’s corpus of
major films. Close-ups captured her face in profile during dialogue scenes, or, when she
was silent, focused on her beauty and meaningful expression in a more contemplative
manner. Either way, Štěpničková seemed to be fully saturated by light, with sharp facial
lines softened. Although critics at the time never really acknowledged the existence of
such star lighting operations in practice, in cases where the framing and lighting formula
was altered they instinctively felt something substantial had gone wrong. As in the review
of the film Preludium (1941), where critic Bedřich Rádl noted: ‘Karel Degl [the camera
operator] provided great artistic value in terms of the visual aspects. However it is a pity
he didn’t find adequate lighting and angles in order to flatter Jiřina Štěpničková’s face’
(Rádl 1942, p. 170).
‘Cinematic virtue is blond’, stated one Czech journalist in a mocking article focusing
on beauty stereotypes deployed in the cinema and their various national manifestations
(Poláček 1937, p. 423). For Poláček the Latin American beauties with various shades of
dark hair stood as the ideal vehicles for sensuality and intense sexuality, while pale white
stars had to offer other qualities such as purity and innocence or display comic talent.
However, stars such as Jean Harlow and Mae West were not unheard of in Czechoslovakia
in the 1930s. Despite their critically acclaimed performances, both of them were readily
associated with values attached to platinum hair – glamorous charm and sexual appeal. In
the case of Štěpničková these were precisely the notions needing to be counterbalanced in
order to prevent a clash with the desired virtues of self-sacrifice and chastity.
Štěpničková’s figures were thus effectively stripped of their sexiness because the overall
styling and lighting strategies presented them as pure characters driven by selfless love.
The halo impression over Štěpničková’s head created by backlighting clearly echoes
Christian aesthetic paradigms. Christianity equates light with moral superiority (the
glowing Virgin Mary being the ultimate example), while darkness and shadow are
associated with sin and sexuality. This luminary scheme mirrors adjacent characteristics
of Štěpničková either in the films themselves or in subsequent promotional material. At
the time, the press indeed dubbed the actress the ‘Czech Madonna’ (Anon 1937), based on
a photograph where she holds a baby boy (Figure 2).
Her hair is lit from above, transforming it into the glowing centre of the whole setting.
In the film Kříž u potoka (The cross by the brook) (1937), certainly the most successful of
Štěpničková’s vehicles in terms of turning her into a martyr, other characters frequently
label her an ‘innocent dove’ or a ‘saint’. Coquetry and sexual innuendo are mostly shifted
onto other, dark-haired women or onto male characters. Thus the blond factor contributed
to this perceived purity and repression within Štěpničková’s star image, rising above and
beyond physical longing.
‘Inauthentic’ star
Despite the fact that Štěpničková’s blond hair was, as we saw, easily sutured into the concept
of a national star, the question of its authenticity remained somehow tenuous. In the central
European cultural space, Štěpničková was not the only fair-haired celebrity constructed as the
projection of the national ideal. In Fritz Lang’s Die Niebelungen (1924), Paul Richter in the
main part of Siegfried displays a masculine torso topped with a cascade of flowing white hair.
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Early on, blondness became a prominent physical trait pointing to the superiority of the Aryan
race. In the case of Richter’s Siegfried, hair was elaborately described already in the screenplay
by Thea von Harbou; during the shooting it was sprayed with a special chemical
substance in order to secure a shimmering effect (Kaes 2001, p. 388). Štěpničková was also
compared with Paula Wessely, the Austrian heimat (homeland) ideal, because they shared
some key characteristics (Černý 1996, p. 148). Both were perceived as great actresses rather
than mere stars, and both played similar parts characterised by virtue and also had the same,
rather robust physique with round facial features underscored by fair hair. Such parallels and
comparisons would be innocent in a different time and place, but the end of the 1930s was a
challenging period for Czechoslovakia. On 15 March 1939 the state was annexed by Nazi
Germany resulting in the so-called Protectorate era, lasting until the final days of World War
II. The cultural politics of the period oscillated between relative autonomy and strict supervision.
In the case of the cinema this was manifest in the on-going production of Czechspeaking
films on the one hand, and centralised, Nazi-sympathetic control over the film
industry on the other. Since many domestic stars spoke fluent German, a number of them
adopted international-sounding names5
and shot a few films in German. These activities
resulted in fierce post-war criticism and in some cases even in career bans. Throughout the
Protectorate era, Štěpničková starred in one or two films per year, but always in the realm of
Figure 2. Czech Madonna: Jiřina Štěpničková in the title part of Vojnarka (1936).
Source: Národní filmový archiv.
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Czech-speaking production. However, her pale Nordic beauty seemed to be easily transferable
and in accordance with Nazi aesthetic preferences. Although the star denied any offers coming
from German-speaking cinema, her direct competitor Adina Mandlová in her memoir,
published years later, speaks of Štěpničková’s unsuccessful screen test for a German film in
the early 1940s (Mandlová 1990, p. 93). True or not, these speculations point to the highly
constructed nature of her star image, absorbing influences simultaneously from the Czech
cultural legacy as well as from wider central European contexts.
In the 1940s, Czech cinema started to gravitate towards realism, especially in screen
adaptations of the literary and dramatic canon. Offering audiences familiar stories, biographies
of domestic celebrated personalities, instantly identifiable musical scores or iconic
landscapes; all of this was part of a heritage-as-resistance project. Such tendencies provided
audiences not only with traditional spectator pleasures in terms of star cast, popular genres
or period settings and costumes, but delivered subtle messages, pointing to timeless visions
of homeland as a source of national endurance. This is the moment when the notion of
glamorous beauty connected with platinum blond hair entered the frame and threatened to
dismantle the star’s image. Although Štěpničková was frequently described in the press of
the time in terms of a deeply spiritual beauty and ‘. . .talent shining through’ (Rádl 1938, p.
88), blondness imbued her heritage performances with questionable visual excess – the kind
of excess gradually needing to be displaced onto landscapes and historical sites. The
reviewers considered the star as possibly too beautiful for the parts she was cast in. Her
charms and glamour were seen to be unsettling the films’ quest for authenticity and
accuracy. The ontological character of Štěpničková’s beauty could not be altered, especially
after she had reached and secured her star status, but journalists felt that some styling or
grooming aspects could have been minimised. For example, in 1940 when Muzikantská
Liduška (Liduška and her musician) (1940) was released, critics noted that her make-up and
hairstyle pulled her performance below her usual acting level (Kautský 1940). Jindřich
Honzl, in his aptly titled essay ‘Preaching for Actors’, viewed excessively glamorous styling
as inadequate for her playing healthy and modest women (Honzl 1940, p. 103).
In 1941 for the screen adaptation of a nationally celebrated book Babička
(Grandmother) (1940), Štěpničková strictly followed the description of her character in
the original story and dyed her hair brown. Although she must have highlighted her
naturally fair hair throughout the 1930s – compared with other popular actresses of the
period the star’s shade of blonde was unusually light – the radically darkened look
certainly opened her image to questions about its constructedness. As a brunette the
actress made two films, and in both of them she was cast along the lines of her previous
parts as a kind, patient and selflessly loving woman. When Štěpničková returned to her
bleached hair, she was given a couple of negative parts, although she had previously
rarely played women accused of causing misfortune and suffering in men. First, in
Preludium (1941) the actress portrayed a housewife racked by the consequences of her
infidelity; this was followed by Barbora Hlavsová (1942), where she embodied a small
town ‘dame’ whose expensive lifestyle draws her husband into corruption and suicide.
Such a career twist can clearly be linked to her visual transformation. As long as her blond
hair could be perceived as a natural, innate trait, its authenticity was not questioned.
However, toning down her looks and then re-establishing the glowing blond image made
Štěpničková seem less in tune with the prevailing trend towards realism.
The breakdown of Štěpničková’s blond image continued as she opted again for a
darker shade in 1944, this time for the comedy Počestné paní pardubické (The respectable
women of Pardubice). Štěpničková’s last film of the war years marks a shift towards more
mature parts as the actress reached the age of 30. Her star image became more welcoming
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towards comic elements and contemporary settings, and it channelled different notions of
womanhood. While in the previous decade the blond star embodied suffering young
women on the threshold of matrimony (usually followed by tragedy or at least misfortune),
the parts she performed around the mid-1940s establish her as a settled wife.
However, Štěpničková’s image was far from unchanging – films such as Děvčica z
Beskyd (The girl from Beskydy mountains) (1944) and Počestné paní pardubické introduced
her to parts of practical women in charge of the household, not being afraid to talk
back to their husbands or the wider community. The angelic, ethereal blondness associated
previously with the star clashed with the more down-to-earth contours of her later roles.
Počestné paní pardubické offers a particularly interesting case in terms of negotiations
between various hair colourings and adornments. This film, in contrast to Babička, did not
require Štěpničková to turn into a brunette in order to match pre-existing material, but the
hair, its styling and decorations, provided a vital source of comic action. Rozina, the main
character, is a hangman’s wife who rebels against her lower social status through her
common sense but also her excessive grooming. Other characters refuse to treat the
executioner couple equally and frequently protest against Rozina’s behaviour. The ladies
point to her elaborate headdresses, arguing that such richly decorated and flattering
adornments clash with her subordinate position. In the end the couple is finally accepted
among respectable society, while the ladies applaud Rozina for discarding her opulent hair
decorations. Yet, in the last shot of the film, the heroine proudly displays her new
centrepiece – a platinum blond, ornate wig; reaching high on top of her head with a
few tight curls let loose on the back of her neck (Figure 3).
Looking at this finale, the change in the treatment, presentation and status of blondness
becomes obvious. Instead of being perceived as an aesthetic signifier of ethical and
moral qualities or a major feature of beauty with national connotations, blond hair is
reduced to a mere comic prop. The star, in this final sequence, is strongly de-familiarised.
Figure 3. Betrayed by blondness: Jiřina Štěpničková (centre) in the finale of Počestné paní
pardubické (1944).
Source: Národní filmový archiv.
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Although the framing and lighting follow the established pattern, the wig is too elaborately
styled and sophisticated to evoke the natural, peasant-like soft waves and braids
Štěpničková sported in her earlier parts. The final platinum hairdo triggers notions of
artificiality and superficiality, ultimately portraying the heroine as a fashion victim and
pointless provocateur. The honorary society Rozina so much wants to be a part of is
throughout the film presented as a group of selfish and two-faced snobs. Putting on fake
hair might be perceived as a sign of her losing her spirit and genuine personality in order
to blend with the small-town ‘elite’. Štěpničková’s later performances thus give us a
glimpse of what her career would evolve into if it had not been so dramatically interrupted
– embracing comedy and/or realistic parts instead of tragic martyr figures, accompanied
by less flamboyant looks. Fair hair associated with the star’s previous parts had to be
discarded because it was too ethereal, too constructed and too reminiscent of the actress in
her early twenties. As Štěpničková outgrew the first phase of her professional path, her
blondness tumbled from a sign of genuine, virtuous character to mere physical trait:
shallow, flashy, interchangeable.
Conclusion
The blond, but not bombshell, star image of Jiřina Štěpničková from the early 1930s to
1945 contained values attached to fair hair up to the end of World War II. Štěpničková
was perceived as a true star, not only based on her industry status and the etymological
roots of the word, but mainly due to the qualities her image channelled. The concept of
truth did not structure only her celebrity persona, conveyed through beauty, talent and
acting skills, but the parts she was cast in also carried notions of ideal womanhood. Two
key aspects of her star image made her stand out exceptionally among her peers. Firstly,
her acting abilities connected to discourses of artistry and dedication to her craft.
Secondly, there was her hair: platinum blond, reaching to her shoulders, framing her
face and styled with the aid of headscarves and headdresses. This particular physical asset
enabled the star to glow and this aesthetic quality gave her the aura of a morally superior
character. Štěpničková’s star persona, constructed around notions of responsible artistry,
together with her image being saturated with blondness, allowed her to embody a highly
valued and distinguished version of Czech womanhood based on heritage literature and
drama. As such, this particular star image could easily articulate values such as endurance,
self-sacrifice and chastity.
However, the blond factor gradually took on a different set of connotations, turning it
towards more ambivalent notions of artificiality, redundancy and visual excess clashing
with the heritage cinema as a form of passive resistance during the war. These initially
minor critical voices resulted in the post-war erosion of Štěpničková’s career, and as a
result with her being treated more like a star from the past than a genuine actress and
therefore unsuitable for the new nationalised film production. After World War II the
concept of blondness underwent a major transformation. Radiant women were no longer
perceived as the moral and aesthetic cores of the films they featured in, but were treated as
light traps – as in the newly triumphant film noir. In post-war Czechoslovakia, blondness
came to be seen as a matter of the past, partly corrupted by Nazi aesthetic preferences, but
mostly mocked and ridiculed as an outmoded cliché. Such is the case of Pytlákova
schovanka aneb šlechetný milionář (The poacher’s foster daughter or the generous
millionaire) (1949), intended as a parody of pre-war popular genres, namely melodramas,
high-society dramas and romantic comedies. The blond hair of the main star – bleached
Hana Vítová, previously a melancholy brunette – was crucial in exposing the outdated
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stereotypes, clearly echoing the stylistic and formal tropes previously associated with
Štěpničková. Blondness, either as a sign of moral purity or glamorous charm, was doomed
throughout the 1950s. In the following decade fair hair returned, this time as a vehicle for
attracting international attention, personified by stars such as Marilyn Monroe and Brigitte
Bardot, leading in turn to the popularity of local stars such as Jana Brejchová or Olga
Schoberová. However, neither of them gained the label of Czech Madonna again,
cementing Jiřina Štěpničková’s place as the ultimate angelic Czech star – ascending to
fame and then sadly falling from grace.
Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.
Notes
1. The concept of heritage cinema addresses the ways in which various national film industries use
particular historical moments for representing the idealised visions of the past. My definition of
heritage cinema is also infused with notions of homeland/heimat cinema as witnessed in the
Austrian, German and Swiss film production between the 1930s and 1960s. Such films are
usually set in rural exteriors, narrated in a sentimental way and characterised by polarised
morality (town versus village, younger versus older generation, tradition versus progress). For
more on heritage cinema, see Vidal (2012).
2. This article follows standard practice by using the term ‘Czech’, as opposed to
‘Czechoslovak’, film industry and film culture because, prior to World War Two, Prague
served as the centre of film production, distribution and exhibition. See, for example,
Szczepanik (2009, p. 14).
3. See also Tremper (2006).
4. For more on topic of nineteenth-century celebrated actresses and the nature of their fame, see
Sochorová (2006, pp. 155–170).
5. For example, Adina Mandlová for the purposes of German-speaking film production turned into
Lil Adina, Nataša Gollová became Ada Goll or Hana Vítová transformed herself into Hana
Witt. However, these pseudonyms were used only rarely in Czech critical discourse.
Notes on contributor
Šárka Gmiterková is a PhD candidate at the Department of Film and Audio Visual Culture, Masaryk
University Brno, Czech Republic, where she is completing her thesis on pre-war versus post-war
Czech film stardom. She served as a guest editor of a special issue of the Czech Film Studies journal
Iluminace devoted to this topic in 2012.
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